


The Bowed Frame of Years

by FyrMaiden



Category: Glee
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-10 23:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FyrMaiden/pseuds/FyrMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where they're disgustingly happy and content forever.<br/>Rated for implied sex, and maybe language but I don't think there's even much of that!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bowed Frame of Years

**Author's Note:**

> Based pretty much solely on a meta conversation I had about how Blaine will always look at Kurt like he's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen and this quote I read:
> 
> The man or woman that you really love will never grow old to you. Through the wrinkles of time, through the bowed frame of years, you will always see the dear face and feel the warm heart union of your eternal love.  
> (Alfred A. Montapert)
> 
> Title: The Bowed Frame of Years  
> Summary: the one where they’re disgustingly content and happy forever.  
> Word Count: ~1300  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Glee is the property of FOX and its respective creators and producers. This is entirely for fun.  
> Author’s Notes: I’ve never written in this fandom before. I’m still finding my sea legs and my voice with this. Mostly I write to entertain a friend, but I’ll float it for general perusal. The worst that can happen is it’ll be ignored. ;) Title is, obviously, lifted from the quote.

Blaine genuinely doesn't notice the passage of years or the effect they have. When he wakes up in the morning, he is merely relieved and awestruck to see Kurt's face next to him, to have the warm reality of Kurt's body pressed against his own. He doesn't see the tricks the years have played; the thickening of Kurt's waist (he's not fat but he's not eighteen anymore either), the thread of silver in his hair, the crows' feet that crinkle Kurt's still impossibly blue eyes. He still sees the boy he fell in love with, and he still feels the same pulse in his chest when Kurt says "I love you."

Kurt still gets up before Blaine and makes breakfast, presses freshly brewed coffee into his hands and kisses him good morning the same way he did when they were in their early twenties and learning what living together actually meant. He still snaps his fingers at wait staff as well, for which Blaine is still apologising and over-tipping. Equally, despite the two children they adopt and who cost far more than Blaine had anticipated even after the careful financial lectures from both Kurt's parents and his own, Kurt still finds room in their budget for designer suits and vintage accessories. His fondness for scarves accelerates until he has two drawers and a box in the back of the closet and Blaine says enough is enough, he needs to downsize. Kurt pouts and flicks his eyelashes, and Blaine kisses him like he's forgotten the shape of his mouth and then says, "You've had some of these since we were boys, Kurt. You don't wear them." He can't find it in himself to actually make Kurt do it, though, and the collection only keeps growing.

 

Kurt is equally over-enthusiastic about their daughter's first principle cast role in an off-Broadway workshop, recites the story again about the time Blaine was cast as Tony in West Side Story and - to her credit - she smiles at him patiently and shares a look with Blaine. Later, she sits beside him on the sofa, her feet tucked underneath her, says, "I wish I could have seen you perform." He hugs her to his side and kisses her hair softly.

"I suspect your dad has a copy of it," he says, and she grins at him and kisses his cheek.

"You know he has," she laughs easily, her face wide and inviting and, as far as Blaine is concerned at least, startlingly beautiful. "Dad's a romantic. He watches it whenever you're not here." And then, without missing a beat, "You know I've seen it, right? Were you thinking about him the whole time?"

Blaine doesn't even hesitate with his answer, only nods. "There's never been anyone else."

 

Their son gets a girl pregnant when he's 17, and Kurt remembers clearly how that affected his friends when he was the same age. Although the words that leave his boy's mouth sound a lot like he’s being told he can't possibly understand (Kurt's never actually had sex with a woman; never felt the need, especially not since Blaine made him feel whole just by being), he chooses to ignore them and enlists Carole's help, and Finn's. If there's anyone who does understand entirely, it's Finn. In the darkness of their room, Blaine's body still slotting flawlessly against his own, still feeling perfect around him, his weight and warmth almost as natural as breathing, Kurt says he thought they'd taught him better than that. Blaine's hips roll languidly and his skin gleams slightly, unruly hair sticking to his head as he drops his chin to his chest and laughs. "Thank you, Kurt," he says at last. "It's still good for me as well." He presses a hand to Kurt's chest and rolls off of him, pads naked to their bathroom to dispose of the condom, and blinks owlishly at his reflection when Kurt turns the light on behind him.

"Seriously, Blaine."

"Seriously, Kurt. I was 16 when we-"

"I meant-"

Blaine washes his hands quickly and turns to face Kurt, "Accidents happen," he says. "The technology isn't exactly infallible. You're assuming the worst in people. He's your son."

Kurt steps into the room and winds his arms around his lover of some thirty-odd years. "Where did I find you?"

"On a staircase."

"Love you."

"Love you more."

 

As Blaine ages, he keeps his haircut shorter. The mess of unruly curls that Kurt taught him to embrace in his thirties had felt desperate in his forties and by the time he hit 50 he decided that the dapper Blaine of yesteryear needed to accept that his hair was no longer appropriate. It's still long enough that it curls around his temples and his forehead when he's hot, but Kurt can't lose his fingers in it anymore and sometimes he misses that.

Still, Kurt makes up for it in a myriad other ways. Blaine is still unfeasibly accommodating as goes Kurt's whims in dressing him up. Their granddaughter's Christening is as good an excuse as any, outside of their daughter's Broadway debut or wedding (one of which seems increasingly unlikely). Kurt sends Blaine to bring his dad back from Ohio. ("He can't fly on his own, Blaine," he explains with limited patience, hand tying favours for immediate family, and Blaine nods, thinking of his own father and how much, right now, he misses him despite everything that happened between them.) On the day, Kurt fixes his tie for him, brushes imaginary lint from his lapels and kisses him like it's only been a week since they met.

"Where would I be without you?" he whispers, voice breathless with sudden crushing need to have and hold (forever always endlessly).

"On the stage," Blaine says slowly, aware of what Kurt gave up to save their relationship.

Kurt shakes his head quickly, threads his fingers through Blaine's like they’re still teenagers and no one (everyone) is watching. "I'd never have made it past my junior year without you," he says.

They don't talk about it anymore, but they both know it's true.

 

What they both appreciate more than anything, though, is the moments they have together. The way Kurt's arms still feel right looped carelessly around Blaine's neck. The way their faces fit together when they kiss. The way Blaine's hands rest on Kurt's hips as if there's nowhere else in the world they belong.

The way no one is judging them when they dance cheek to cheek at their anniversary meal.

Their daughter brings a chorus performer with her and he strikes an easy conversation with Blaine, who has always been the more approachable one the two of them, the public face of their relationship and, oftentimes, its heart as well. Kurt's armour runs deep, and it's only around his family that he ever really takes it off. Still, their anniversary. Who'd have thought they'd make it this far? He rests his chin on his palm and watches Blaine with adoration, with an openness he doesn't often show and, when Blaine catches his eyes, his smile fills the whole room.

He pushes himself to his feet and extricates his husband from the easy charms of their daughter's friend. "Take me home," he whispers against Blaine's ear, curling his hand around his waist.

 

At his second wedding, their son asks Kurt how they do it. "How do you make it look so easy?" Kurt doesn't really understand the question, and he can feel confusion writ large across his face. Loving Blaine has never been something he works at. Loving Blaine is the same thing as breathing air. Not having Blaine feels a lot like suffocating. The year they'd spent apart - and Blaine's business trips - have taught him that. He's never once suspected Blaine of anything, though.

"Trust," he says eventually, once the questions is made moot by dint of the time it takes to answer. "And a lot of respect."

Their son nods his head, as if it makes sense now. And then, out of nowhere, "Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Why did we never meet his parents?"

A lot of feelings Kurt has long since buried re-emerge for one immersive moment before he shuts them away again. He feels a hand on his lower spine, the comforting pressure of Blaine's arm curling around his shoulder. "Lack of respect," Blaine supplies and, as the DJ takes the microphone and the music starts thumping, "Can I have this dance?" Kurt laughs, and the colour floods his cheeks. They're far too old for this now, but dancing with Blaine always feels right.

 

FIN  
26.06.2012


End file.
